A Lifetime of Kisses
by kci47
Summary: Written for the "Seven Kisses" challenge on HPFC. A series of kisses throughout Hermione's life, pretty self-explanatory. Maybe a little AUish, but not too much.
1. Terry

Most people probably think Hermione's first kiss came from Viktor Krum, during her fourth year. They probably envision it like so: a long night of dancing and flirtatious remarks and coy looks and punch, followed by a great deal of handholding and a chaste goodnight kiss in the glow from the fairy bushes, before she floats up the stairs and he strides back to the Durmstrang ship.

They couldn't be more wrong.

Her first real kiss arrived much sooner, during her second year. She spent most of her waking hours in the library, studying and completing homework weeks in advance. Her constant companions were mostly Ravenclaws, Terry Boot in particular. They got on rather well—both had an insatiable thirst for knowledge; both were rather lacking in the friends or extracurriculars departments. It was no surprise to either of them when they decided to kiss—purely for scientific study, of course.

They set the parameters for their test first, deciding the control group would be friendly kisses to the cheek. Both students were familiar with the scientific method and the need for outlining the limits of your experiment before embarking on it. Much research was done into various forms of kissing, along with different cultural variations on the act. Four weeks after deciding on their experiment, they began. Hermione would record the quantitative data: date, time, length of kiss, placement of kiss, etc. Terry was in charge of noting down the qualitative information: each person's level of comfort, their physical reactions, and their overall enjoyment or displeasure.

The first tentative kisses to their cheeks were mostly pleasant, if not very exciting, and they deemed their experiment off to a promising start. Realizing it would not do to be caught out by Madam Pince, they moved their experiment to a little-used corridor near the Ravenclaw Tower. Of course, the control test had to be repeated, owing to the change in setting, and both students were satisfied to note that their reactions mimicked what they'd felt in the library. Still, it was better to be sure, and a third round of cheek kisses was performed.

Next, they would be testing uncharted waters: mouths-closed, eyes-open, five-second presses of lips to lips. In the pursuit of scientific integrity, Hermione described the way her stomach seemed to wiggle a bit as Terry leaned in, despite feeling a tad embarrassed. Terry reported similar feelings when it was Hermione's turn to administer the kiss. Both agreed that having their eyes open too easily distracted them from the other feelings, and decided that the next round of tests would be performed with eyes closed.

It was a week before they could meet up again, and they learned quickly that closing your eyes _before _you leaned in was a recipe for disaster and misplaced mouths. Neither Terry nor Hermione noted any feelings of interest when a kiss landed sloppily on a chin or forehead. Deciding to maintain the mouths-closed parameter for the time being, they focused on increasing the duration of the kisses in five-second intervals, carefully casting timer charms at the beginning of each kiss. Both reported feelings of "stomach wiggling" and higher body temperatures increasing in a pattern directly proportional to the length of the kisses. Both deemed it necessary to cease the experiment once the duration reached longer than a minute per kiss, as both were feeling curiously non-objective and out of breath.

The portion of their experiment examining the effects of open-mouth kissing was abruptly abandoned after the first test, due to both parties' general feelings of "icky-ness". Not willing to end the experiment entirely, however, they decided to substitute a different factor, and Terry's suggestion of wrapping their arms around each other beat out Hermione's idea of angling their heads by a slim margin. Interestingly, Hermione reported greater feelings of overall satisfaction with this method than Terry.

Unfortunately, the increased security in light of the Monster of Slytherin meant they had little opportunity to continue testing their hypothesis. They managed to carve out a few moments here and there during study sessions "supervised" by Professor Lockhart, and their experiment moved forward slowly. Both students were at a loss for additional parameters to test (the use of tongues was most decidedly _out_) but both were also reluctant to call an end to the experiment.

That decision was taken out of their hands, however, because Hermione was Petrified before they could conclude their experiment. Terry worked relentlessly on their data, analyzing and graphing everything he could quantify, hoping that he would have something worthwhile to present when Hermione woke up. The alternatives—that she wouldn't wake up or that he would have nothing solid to show for their work—were equally unthinkable.

Thankfully, neither came to pass, as Hermione was eventually revived, and when Terry went to visit her in the Hospital Wing, he was able to present their disproved hypothesis: that one could recreate feelings of love by repeated physical displays of affection using solid friendship as a foundation. Hermione smiled softly and Terry grinned when they agreed that kisses between friends who were meant to stay friends simply weren't thrilling the way kisses between lovers should be.

Terry's gentle kiss to her lips was not included in their data, however, because it was so full of tangled emotions that neither was able to list their meanings individually.

* * *

**A/N: Written for the "Seven Kisses" challenge on HPFC. I had thought to try this challenge from the POV of a Dementor, but just lacked inspiration. So I fell back on trusty ol' Hermione (that's what she said). I'm not JK Rowling.**


	2. Seamus

Hermione never was sure how word got out about her slapping Draco, but get out it did, and the effect was instantaneous. Overnight, she became a Gryffindor celebrity: a banner with her picture hung over the fireplace in the common room, the Weasley twins insisted on carrying her from the Hospital Wing, and even students from other houses saluted her as she passed them in the hallway.

That she had somehow managed to enrage Professor Snape without receiving a detention in return was just icing on the cauldron cake.

By the time she fell, exhausted, through the portrait hole after the entire Werewolf-Animagus-Time-Turner-Hippogriff-Sirius debacle (really, she needed to come up with a better name for that event), her reflexes perhaps weren't quite as cat-like as usual. You could hardly blame her: in one night, she'd lived close to a full day _and_ avoided a swarm of Dementors, so she was more than a bit peaky. Still, she rather thought she should have seen him coming. The boy was a bundle of energy wrapped up in a tornado of action and tied with a bow of pure, raw vigor.

Seamus Finnigan was _so _ecstatic that she'd physically put Malfoy in his place that _naturally _the only way to express his gratitude was to kiss her.

Full on the lips.

Enthusiastically.

In front of the entire Gryffindor House _and _Professor McGonagall.

Sure that her cheeks were flushed the same crimson as their house flag, it nevertheless took Hermione several long moments to summon up the effort to push him away. Of course she was tired and not acting like herself, but...there was also a tiny thrill coursing through her at the thought of being desired by someone, anyone. Not that she was mistaking Seamus' kiss for one of desire, of course; Seamus was just overly demonstrative by nature and he no doubt considered this as normal as slapping one of the boys on the back after a good game of Exploding Snap.

A few wolf whistles reached her ears, along with Professor McGonagall's disapproving "Mr. Finnigan, unhand Miss Granger at once!", and Hermione managed to separate their lips. Seamus' unrepentant wink made up for any annoyance she had felt at being ambushed in such a spectacular manner, and later that night, Parvati and Lavender's hushed questions and obvious admiration _more _than made up for the slight bruising her poor mouth had taken earlier.

And if word got 'round to the Slytherins that Hermione, the _bookworm_, had been thoroughly kissed by one of the most charming boys in their year because she'd slapped Draco, well...all so much the better, to her mind.

* * *

**A/N: Written for the "Seven Kisses" challenge on HPFC. I'm not JK Rowling, because I would have definitely paid more attention to Seamus. And kissing. And people kissing Seamus.**


	3. Viktor

Of course Hermione kissed Viktor Krum. You could hardly expect her to miss out on such an opportunity, could you? International Quidditch star, Tri-Wizard Champion, Durmstrang mystery man...really, his list of qualifications for kissing went on and on.

And Hermione knew she was unlikely to ever be presented with such an opportunity in the future. Worse, everyone else knew it, too.

So when Viktor awkwardly kissed her hand as they left the library one day, she was flattered. When he kissed her cheek after she accepted his invitation to the Yule Ball, she beamed. When he planted a wispy kiss on her lips after they left the Ball, she felt pleased but mildly disappointed there was nothing more.

When Viktor snogged her properly a few days later (he'd had to work up the courage, he explained apologetically and not entirely grammatically correctly), she felt...uncomfortable. There was really no other word for the uncoordinated mashing of lips and unwelcome invasion of tongue that was her first adult kiss. Still...he was famous, so she closed her eyes and persevered.

He was every bit as awkward at kissing on the ground as he was walking on it.

But...Hermione was lucky enough to discover that his kissing, much like his general dexterity, improved drastically once he was on a broomstick.

The night before the final task, Viktor invited her out for a moonlit walk. In light of the coming trial, faculty supervision of the champions was somewhat relaxed—or at least it was for Viktor. Karkaroff probably hoped Viktor would use his newfound free time to sneak a peek at the maze. Instead, Viktor had sought out Hermione, and it had not taken much convincing to get her out of the tense atmosphere of the castle for a bit. Hand-in-hand, they strolled around the edge of the lake.

Halfway around, the look in Viktor's eyes grew mischievous, and he tugged her off the path. Resigning herself to more awkward kisses, she was surprised when he showed her the two brooms tucked behind a large boulder. However, he had clearly not planned on her reluctance to fly. Confused at first, then growing more frustrated by the minute, he finally pleaded with her to just sit behind him while he flew them together on one broom. Unwilling to resist him further, Hermione agreed, although with a great many misgivings.

As he pushed into the air, Hermione was nothing short of enlightened. Flying with Viktor Krum was nothing, _nothing_, like flying around on one of the Hogwarts school brooms on your own. She was weightless, exhilarated, free! She was flying, invincible, untamed!

Gripping his waist firmly, Hermione laughed. Viktor executed a number of loops that caused her stomach to flip into her throat, and then, before she could regain her bearings, he turned to smile at her in the darkness, and there was no other option at that point, really, than to kiss him with everything she was feeling. With a nimbleness and level of comfort on a broom that Harry and Draco would kill for, Viktor managed to swing her around in front of him, and they were kissing, kissing wildly so high in the air.

Every cell in Hermione's body tingled with the danger and excitement of what they were doing. Viktor was guiding the broom without even looking, and oh, how Hermione wished she could boast of this to the boys later. But this was something she would keep to herself, something so primal that it could not be conveyed in words. Higher and higher they rose as Viktor's lips moved skillfully over hers, and Hermione made a mental note to tell Terry that tongues were rather a nice addition to kissing when one used them in the proper setting. And then her capacity for mental notes was quite shut down for a while.

There was no room for thoughts of kissing in the sky after the final task. Viktor and Hermione managed only a few quick murmurs before he was off, back to Bulgaria, meaningless words and hasty promises to stay in touch. His kiss then was every bit as uncertain as the one after the Yule Ball, and Hermione longed for one more flight—one more chance to steal a little happiness, as it appeared there would not be much to be had in the coming months.

After that year, she always refused to fly with anyone else, on a matter of principle. It just wasn't the same.

* * *

**A/N: It follows logic that if the man is better at flying than he is walking, he's also better at snogging on a broom than on the ground, right? I think so. Not JKR.**


	4. A Slytherin

During "The Year of The Toad" as it came to be known, there was not much occasion—or opportunity—for kissing. Unless, of course, you were a Slytherin, and the thing you were kissing was the posterior of a certain pink-clad dictator.

Ahem.

That didn't mean there was no romance, of course—just look at Harry and Cho. Or take, for instance, the way Hannah Abbott admired Neville's profile as he struggled to master the Patronus Charm. Times of extreme duress tended to bring out the devil-may-care in people; Hermione had plenty of chances to observe this truth for herself. It was just that she was too busy looking over her shoulder this year to spend much time looking for someone to kiss.

Not that she needed anyone, thank you very much.

Still, it seemed that there was a steady stream of people presenting themselves nonetheless. The first, she was sorry to report, she only discovered several days after the fact. Little Rory King, a first year and a Gryffindor through and through, had perhaps unwisely informed Professor Umbridge of her extreme unpopularity at the school. Hermione healed what she could, but his hand would probably bear the words "I am a horrible little boy" forever. Gentle, motherly kisses to the forehead were all that would comfort him.

After that, more children sought her out. At first it was only Gryffindors—Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were rarely foolish enough to cross a professor, after all—and Hermione began to raid Professor Snape's storeroom for additional murtlap essence. He had increased security on his personal stores since the little "episode" in her second year, but it was only a matter of minutes before she'd disabled his enchantments. She _had _read the Standard Book of Spells series, thank you, quite unlike her peers, and so the murtlap was hers for the taking.

Odd that breaking rules in the name of doing good seemed to come as second nature to her now. She blamed Harry and Ron.

That Umbridge's vitriol eventually spewed over into the other houses was no surprise to anyone who'd spent two seconds in the horrid woman's company. What _did _come as a surprise was the freedom with which she assigned self-mutilating detentions without reprisal from anyone. Hermione began to treat the injuries of Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors alike, hoping that the stock of murtlap essence did not run out at an inconvenient time. It was growing dangerously low, and dwindling at an alarming rate.

The older students didn't require much in the way of comforting—just the soothing effect of the murtlap was enough to buoy their spirits. The younger ones were a different story, however. The youngest among them would cry openly as Hermione rocked them, kissed them, and told them they were brave, wonderful little boys and girls. She also strongly advocated that they all keep their heads down and their opinions to themselves so that The Toad would have no cause to punish them again.

Sutter Southwaite's membership in Slytherin House was apparently no consideration when The Toad assigned him to carve "I am nothing" into his own eleven-year-old hand for the better part of two hours. Hermione's rage was palpable when she found him huddled behind a statue and coaxed the whole story out of him. That evening, Sutter learned a number of new derogatory phrases he'd never heard before. He nodded sullenly when Hermione made him promise to stay put while she fetched a bit of healing potion. She recognized the look in his eyes—he didn't think she'd come back for him. Why should she? She was a Gryffindor. Hermione didn't even want to know what they said about her in the Slytherin common room.

Debating her options, Hermione decided the Potions storeroom was closer than Gryffindor Tower, and she darted off to purloin the prized essence. She was dismayed to discover that there was only one vial left. _You'll just have to stretch the last batch in your dorm, old girl_, she told herself resolutely. It would probably mean no relief for older students until she could figure out a way to obtain more. The younger ones needed it more, it was simple.

Rushing back to the statue where she'd left Sutter, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding when she found him waiting for her. Eyes widening in awe, Sutter gazed at Hermione like she was the great Salazar himself. Earning herself an avid supporter for life, Hermione soothed away Sutter's cuts while working to soothe away the inner injuries, as well. Sutter would never have gone for help, he told her, because it would mean admitting he was an unworthy Slytherin. Which other ones had been targeted by Umbridge, after all?

None, Hermione thought grimly. Doing her best to buoy Sutter's spirits without being too obviously Gryffindor about it, Hermione did not notice the observer at the end of the hall. By the time Sutter's hand was restored to good as new, the little boy was grinning wickedly at Hermione's impression of The Toad's "hem, hem". He also swore up and down that he did _not _believe what The Toad had forced him to write over and over that evening, and that he would be sure to tell her if anyone else from Slytherin was in need of her particular brand of magic.

Taking a risk, Hermione pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, and reminded him to pretend like he hated her whenever they chanced to pass in the halls. He hurried off, but turned and bestowed her with as heartfelt a hug as a Slytherin boy was capable of, and then he was gone while Hermione fought her tears. It was so unfair, the way The Toad was-

"Please explain what you are doing in this corridor, Miss Granger." The deep drawl interrupted her thoughts, and she hastily wiped away the telltale tracks of moisture on her cheeks before standing and facing Professor Snape.

"I-"

"And with stolen property, I see," he added, his eyes flickering to the vial clutched in her hand.

_Unbelievable luck you're having tonight, Hermione_, her inner voice said. What to tell her professor to get her out of this hallway in as little trouble as possible? What would he believe? _Don't mind me, Professor, I've just been stealing your valuable potions ingredients to heal the students that Umbridge has been torturing_.

Yes, _that_ would go over well.

"I can see you are trying valiantly to concoct a lie that I will swallow. Allow me to save you the effort and the inevitable failure." He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "As it happens, I saw you dart out of my storeroom, and I followed you here. Imagine my surprise when I saw you with one of my students."

"How much did you hear?" she asked him defiantly.

"All of it." His black eyes bored into hers before he stepped back again. "Therefore, Miss Granger, as your punishment, I will be awarding ten points to Slytherin."

Hermione wondered if prolonged exposure to murtlap essence addled the brain, for surely she did not understand what Professor Snape was saying. It must have shown on her features, for she swore one corner of his mouth tilted upwards just the tiniest bit.

"For Mr. Southwaite's exemplary behavior in my class tomorrow. I am sure there will be some reason to award him points. Now, you will remove yourself from this hallway at once."

"Y-yes, sir." She could hardly believe her good luck. Maybe she had touched some Felix Felicis while she was in the Potions storeroom? Which reminded her... "Actually, Professor, there is one more thing..."

His gaze was highly unsettling, Hermione noted, not for the first time. When he did not answer, she rushed on. "It's just, er, there isn't any essence of murtlap left in the stores," she whispered.

Silence reigned for a full minute before he spun to walk away, saying only, "I will ensure that it does not run out in future."

It seemed the price for unlimited murtlap essence was one kiss for a Slytherin.

* * *

**A/N: I seem to find myself writing scenes from this year often, and always dealing with Hermione's sneaky healing activities. Umbridge is probably my favorite villain of all times - she is so easy to hate! Not JK Rowling.**


	5. A Gryffindor

Sixth year Potions class turned out to be the most frustrating Hermione had ever encountered—and who would have guessed that Professor Snape's _absence _from the class was the cause?

Well, not the main cause. But certainly a part of it. Professor Snape would have known immediately that Harry was cheating somehow...in fact, Professor Snape would never have allowed Harry into NEWT Potions to start with. So, yes, perhaps his absence was the main cause, after all.

Friday's double Potions had been even more aggravating than usual, and Hermione was in an uncharacteristically sour mood as she stormed into her dormitory and flung her bag on the bed.

"Honestly!" she growled, kicking at her bedpost. "Honestly!" She was too angry to even rant coherently.

Lavender and Parvati exchanged a glance before sidling closer to Hermione.

"Rough day?" Parvati asked. Hermione's snarl was their only response.

"Here." Lavender held out an unmarked blue bottle. "You seem like you could use a swig."

Hermione eyed the bottle warily. She knew better than to drink something she hadn't prepared herself—constant vigilance, and all that—but she was in a towering temper and felt like being a little bit reckless, just this once. Grabbing the bottle and downing considerably more than a _swig_, she coughed and wiped a sleeve across her mouth.

"Where the bloody hell did you get Firewhisky?" she rasped, offering the bottle back. Her first encounter with the substance was unpleasant...but becoming less so by the minute. Changing her mind, she took another drink from the bottle. Lavender's conspiratorial grin improved Hermione's mood drastically.

"Smuggled it in from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," Lavender announced proudly.

"They're giving Firewhisky to underage students? Molly's not going to like that," Hermione said, hardly believing the twins' daring.

"Not just any student," Lavender corrected. "Parvati and George, ah...well, he's always been helpful when it comes to getting us things," she finished, throwing a significant look at Parvati.

Hermione nodded wisely before taking another drink. "Good for you, Parvati," she stated loudly. It felt good, so good, to be bucking the rules for once. She felt a surge of kinship for her dormmates as they passed the Firewhisky around, their conversation growing sillier and sillier.

_This is what I need_, Hermione thought drunkenly to herself. _Girls. Not boys. Especially not boys who cheat at Potions and—and—and don't go with me to Slughorn's parties. Yeah._

After another two hours, the bottle was dry and Parvati was snoring none-too-softly on Lavender's bed. Hermione was laughing uproariously at something Lavender had just said, although she couldn't quite remember what. No matter. Lavender was her very best friend, and wasn't it so wonderful that they'd finally realized it?

Staggering to the loo, Hermione examined herself in the mirror. She looked good: her cheeks were flushed, her hair was attractively disheveled instead of just regularly disheveled, her eyes were large and bright. She was also fairly fuzzy, but maybe that was the mirror. Or the Firewhisky. Hermione wondered if it melted your skin or just made it seem that way. Was Lavender fuzzy too? She couldn't remember, and wasn't that odd, because Lav-Lav was her soulmate, and twin.

Pulling the door open, Hermione abruptly came face-to-very-close-face with said twin, and both girls burst out laughing again. Just as quickly, their laughter subsided, and they were kissing wholeheartedly, if a little sloppily.

Firewhisky-breath met Firewhisky-breath as both girls automatically angled their heads for less nose-bumping. Hermione felt giddily happy that she and her closest pal were sharing kisses as well as confidences. It vaguely registered in the back of her mind that kissing Lavender was so much easier than kissing Viktor, because now she knew what to do. And, Lavender was much softer, which was nice.

Lavender's hands grabbed Hermione's shoulders, and Hermione's slid into Lavender's hair. _I've got to start using her shampoo, _Hermione thought distractedly. _Her hair is soft as a Nargle's_. Giggles erupted at this thought, and Lavender joined in. It was too funny a thought to keep to herself, though. "You feel like a Nargle!" Hermione gasped between breaths, and this sent them into renewed fits of mirth.

Stumbling back to Lavender's bed with their arms slung around each other's shoulders, the two girls stared at the sleeping form of Parvati.

"Forgot," Hermione mumbled.

Lavender swung her whole body around when she turned to look at Parvati's bed. "Les' use hers," she slurred, hauling Hermione with her. This made sense to Hermione, so they collapsed onto the narrow bed in a tangle of limbs. Lavender's hand tickled at her side, and Hermione began to laugh again.

"Ssshh!" Lavender warned exaggeratedly. Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth, but now Lavender was giggling uncontrollably.

"Have to shut you up," Hermione warned her before attacking Lavender's lips with her own again. They were either relatively quiet or Parvati was deeply asleep because the other girl was confused when she woke the next morning to find Hermione and Lavender cuddled in her bed together. Shrugging, she went to use the loo and dress, and when she came back, they were each minding their own business, rummaging through their trunks.

That's why Hermione was doubly irritated the next day when her _supposed _new friend starting snogging her _former_ best friend (and, alright, her long-time crush). Just practice, was she? Just a warm-up for the main event, was she? Well, Hermione didn't _need_ "Lav-Lav", and she _certainly _didn't need to see Lavender's delightfully talented lips attached to someone else, regardless of who they were.

Whenever the jealousy reared its ugly head, Hermione's inner devil questioned exactly who she was jealous of, anyway—Lavender, or Ron? She steadfastly refused to answer that question, even to herself.

* * *

**A/N: I'm not sure why, but for some reason, lately the Lavender/Hermione romantic pairing has been calling my name. This is my first foray into it, what do you think? *I* think that Lavender would definitely manage to loosen Hermione up a bit if given half a chance. JK Rowling is rolling over in her, er, castle (?) right now.**


	6. One That Doesn't Count

Perhaps her most famous kiss was not Viktor's, but Ron's. Emotions were high the night of the Final Battle, and-

Bloody hell. Emotions had been high for months and months before then. Hermione didn't try to kid herself; she and Ron had been tiptoeing around each other since before Harry's seventeenth birthday. _To hell with it, Hermione_. They'd been dancing around each other since that day on the train seven years ago, there was no use denying it.

So when Ron had bravely led them into (and out of) the Chamber of Secrets, and held her while she cried at the things Voldemort's Horcrux had said to her, and then mentioned the safety of the house-elves, I ask you: what else is a girl supposed to do in that situation?

She kissed him. And it had been documented far and wide in the chronicling of the events of that fateful night, so now everyone knew about it, too. But did it really count, a kiss under duress?

And when Ron suggested that they take some time apart to decide who they were going to be, now that the war was over, she buried her hurt more deeply than her embarrassing crush on Gilderoy Lockhart, and flipped her hair over her shoulder, proud of the way her words sounded not the slightest bit affected: "Yes, Ron, I think that would be best."

No, she decided. A kiss under duress did _not _count.

It didn't count.

* * *

**A/N: Still not JK Rowling, and I'm also not counting this one towards my seven-kisses total. Because canon events are just too easy, you know?**

**PS - Don't worry, WeasleySeeker. It gets better. :)**


	7. Another Slytherin

In the aftermath of the war, Hermione was too busy to even contemplate kissing anyone. First there had been the efforts to rebuild the castle. Then there had been the work rounding up the remaining Death Eaters, and the trials of everyone involved in Voldemort's reign of terror. Then she had sat her NEWTs, apprenticed with Professor McGonagall, and now, two years after Voldemort's defeat, found herself the brand-new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher until a more suitable one could be located.

It was Hermione's goal to prove to everyone that the curse on the position had been released with Voldemort's death, so she was committed to at least two years on the job—that is, if she didn't die after the first year. Hopefully after a successful stint as the DADA professor without any harm befalling her, more applications would roll in, but until then...

Hermione Granger was _busy_.

_No thanks to Malfoy_, she growled to herself as she dismissed this evening's group of detention earners. Draco Malfoy was standing in as the school's Potions professor until another one could be found, and his preferred method of discipline was to assign her Gryffindors to detentions...with _her_. At first she had protested this arrangement, but Draco just used his detentions as an opportunity to remove even more house points, so it was really a terrible situation. Hermione had begrudgingly taken on the responsibility of holding the detentions. It was the lesser of two evils, right? That's what she reasoned...and he knew it, too. In fact, she was fairly certain he had manipulated it this way precisely so that she would feel compelled to proctor the detentions.

Except now her already-limited free time was now even more so. Sitting idly for several hours while the students worked quietly was slowly driving her berserk. There was only so much grading she could do on any given night. Striding down the corridor towards her rooms, she relished the opportunity to stretch her muscles. Teaching was not a position that required a great deal of physical exertion, even in DADA. Eyeing the hallway leading to the dungeons, Hermione decided to have a chat with Malfoy. She was not going to tolerate his presumption any more.

Not bothering to knock, Hermione flung the door to his classroom open and had only taken two steps before a jet of red light flew in her direction. Instinctively diving out of the way, she rolled and hunkered down behind a bench. She opened her mouth to tell him it was just her, but right then a jinx hit a box of vials over her head and she had to defend herself from the flying glass, instead.

Throwing up a Shield Charm, Hermione ventured to raise her head above the bench. "It's just me, Malf-"

The hex hit her shield so hard she felt her wand vibrate. Gripping it more tightly, she moved into offensive mode, casting her own _Petrificus Totalus _towards the corner where she thought he was. A quiet curse was the only indication that she had neared her target, but then she heard the shuffling sound that meant he was moving.

Crawling over to take cover beside a bookcase, Hermione countered a jet of yellow light with a Stunner of her own. She must have caught a small part of him because he stumbled into her sight in slow motion, clearly trying to fight the effects of being grazed by a _Stupefy_. Jumping up triumphantly, Hermione placed her fists on her hips. "You have really terrible manners, you know! Hexing anyone who walks into your classroom!"

Draco turned his cold gray eyes on her and smirked in that way she hated. "You were uninvited, Granger, and since the war I've got a bit of a problem with being startled."

Before she could fully process this, Draco was throwing hex after hex at her. The air in the classroom filled with bright flashes of light, the sounds of panting and occasional yelps of pain, and the mingling smells of sweat, smoke, and the odors of potions ingredients that were spilled while they dueled.

Hermione dove, spun, parried, blocked, twisted, ran, rolled, attacked, and jinxed as though her life depended on it. And maybe it did—she had thought that Draco seemed to have turned over a new leaf since the war ended, but she didn't quite trust him not to kill her.

She hadn't felt this fully alive in so long. The adrenaline coursed through her veins and her rusty combat muscles were practically singing with the welcomed exertions. Her brain called forth all manner of jinxes and hexes to be thrown at her nemesis as they circled each other around the classroom. They'd blown apart most of the furniture now and faced one another openly.

Draco looked at Hermione appraisingly. She lifted her chin—let him do his worst!—and glared back at him until she realized he wasn't looking at her with anger, or even disdain. No, as his eyes traveled lower, Hermione was shocked to discover that Draco seemed to be almost _happy_. This thought so surprised her that she did not even take advantage when he looked away from her. When his eyes met hers again after a leisurely examination of her body, she had only a split second to marvel at the expression in the cool gray before he'd disarmed her.

Wanting to howl in frustration, Hermione did the only thing she could think of, and threw herself at Draco. Tackling him to the ground, Hermione grabbed his wand hand and slammed the wrist to the floor, sending his wand skittering away. Now they were both wandless, and she grinned ferally.

_That might have been a mistake_, she lectured herself as Draco rolled them over and pinned Hermione's arms above her head.

"Muggle wrestling? How low-class of you, Granger," Draco panted. Hermione was too busy trying to buck Draco off of her to answer. She twisted and fought with all her strength, but Draco was too heavy to budge and he only pressed her wrists to the floor harder the more she struggled.

Taking a break to glare at him, she growled, "Let me up, Malfoy."

"I don't think so." He allowed a small smile to cross his features. "Not until you admit that you like this—being dominated by a Slytherin."

"Never!" she hissed, surging forward and biting Draco's forearm. In his surprise, he released her wrists, and Hermione threw him off of her onto the floor. Diving on top of him, she used all her body weight to pin down his legs and shoulders. "_You_ admit it—that you like it—dominated by a Gryffindor." She was gasping for air but Draco was unable to roll them over with her pressed on top of him.

Instead, he wrapped a hand in her hair and yanked just hard enough for it to be slightly painful. Positioning her head so that they were nose to nose, he snarled, "Maybe I do," and then they were kissing frantically.

Hermione had no idea who kissed whom first, nor did she think it really mattered. And they weren't _kissing _so much as continuing their duel...with their lips and teeth and tongues.

_And I'm winning_, she crowed to herself. However, at that moment Draco managed to free his legs and he quickly reversed their positions without taking his lips off hers. Locking both arms behind his head, Hermione continued to kiss him fiercely, until she couldn't go any longer without a breath.

Panting, they stared at one another. Now that Hermione had a chance to catch her breath, she wondered what on earth she'd been thinking. This was _Draco Malfoy_, for Godric's sake!

"What the hell was that, Granger?" he asked her then, but without any malice. He ran a hand through his hair, and Hermione giggled at how disheveled it made him look. Actually, they were both disheveled. Hermione noted one sleeve of Draco's shirt was singed, and there was a long tear running down one leg of his trousers. She already knew her hair was everywhere, and a cool breeze was reaching her stomach, which meant there was fabric missing somewhere.

"You tell me. You're the one that started firing off hexes," she retorted. She attempted to sit up, but Draco didn't budge from his position straddling her hips. "Let me up."

He looked at her consideringly, but made no move to climb off her. Hermione stared back at him, wondering how they'd managed to get themselves into this odd predicament. "Did you enjoy that?" he asked finally.

"Yes," she answered immediately, only belatedly realizing that she should never have given him the upper hand that way. _Always such a Gryffindor_, she chastised herself.

"The dueling or the kissing?" If Hermione wasn't mistaken, Draco's tone was actually...amused?

"Both, surprisingly." The truth of the statement was hard to deny. It felt good, so good, to be dueling again. She had so much energy and frustration pent up anymore, and no outlet. To be honest, she couldn't even criticize Draco's hex-first-ask-questions-later attitude, because she was at most a handful of days away from acting similarly herself.

And she certainly had plenty of frustration built up in the kissing department, as well.

Sneaking a peek at his face, Hermione wondered how he could manage to look both flattered and nonchalant at once. She supposed it was part of being a Malfoy. Just then, Draco stood up in one fluid motion and held out a hand to her. Clasping it, Hermione allowed him to pull her up, and looked around for her wand. Not sure what else to say, she silently retrieved both their wands, holding Draco's out to him.

"Same time tomorrow then?" Draco asked.

Eyes widening, Hermione looked at him. "For dueling or kissing?" she asked suspiciously.

Draco smirked at her before waving his wand to open the classroom door with a loud bang. "Both, surprisingly," he mimicked her, turning and heading for his office after gracing her with his most courtly bow.

Bemused, Hermione drifted out of the classroom and back towards her own rooms. It wasn't until she was getting ready for bed that she remembered she'd meant to tell him she wasn't going to run his detentions anymore.

At least she would be seeing him tomorrow.

* * *

**A/N: I admit I stole most of this from an unfinished oneshot I have called 'Dueling Draco'. It just popped into my head one night and I felt compelled to write it, but I never really finished it, and then I thought it would fit perfectly into this timeline. So there you are. I'm not JK Rowling much to my disappointment!**


	8. Another Gryffindor, One That Does Count

Hermione was back to being bereft of kisses, for the moment. Her bizarre relationship (if you could call it that) with Draco had continued for a couple of weeks until they had become more interested in just dueling and not kissing. And then, curiously enough, they had realized they enjoyed sitting around and chatting about various things nearly as much as the dueling, and now...well, now she supposed they were friends. If one could ever really _be _friends with a Malfoy.

But that was neither here nor there. The Wizarding world was abuzz with the news that the curse on the DADA position had in fact been lifted—proof positive was currently sitting under an umbrella at the restored Florean Fortescue's in Diagon Alley, enjoying her raspberry-and-dark-chocolate ice cream.

To be quite honest (and Hermione always tried to be honest), she was relieved to be free of her commitment to teaching. She enjoyed it, to an extent, but she'd always felt it was a bit of a stopgap, really. She had other ambitions. Ambitions which she had set about pursuing this morning, as a matter of fact.

Her interview with the Ministry had gone well, and she would hopefully start her job in the Magical Law Enforcement office in August. They'd been willing to give her the job without an interview, of course, but Hermione had insisted. She knew she was qualified, even without the war heroine status, and now it would be on record that her resume was exemplary.

Toasting an imaginary Ministry official with the last of her ice cream, Hermione leaned back in her chair and sighed. Hogwarts was interviewing potential professors later today, and Headmistress McGonagall wanted Hermione to assist her in choosing her own replacement.

Just then, a shadow fell over her, and she glanced up, startled to see someone standing so close to her. For a former Defense teacher, her protective instincts were laughable.

"Ron!" She jumped up to hug him, but paused at the expression on his face. He seemed uncomfortable, nervous...terrified? "What's wrong? HarryGinnyMollyGeorge-"

He held up a hand to stop her barrage of rapid-fire questions. "Everyone's fine. Can I...can we chat a minute?"

He was acting so strangely. Hermione frowned slightly, wondering what on earth could be the matter. True, she had barely seen Ron except in passing at lavish Ministry and Hogwarts functions, but surely if something terrible was going on she would have heard, wouldn't she?

_Maybe not_, her mind whispered. _You've avoided him since he said he wanted to try being apart_. Well, you could hardly blame her, could you? He'd kissed her so magnificently during the battle, and then afterwards, it was all "you're lovely but I think we're different people" and other nonsense. If Hermione allowed herself to examine that old wound, she knew she would find it raw still.

"Of course," she murmured, gesturing towards the table. Ron shook his head and remained standing, so she did as well. She wondered again what could be making him act this way. There was nothing for it but to wait and see what he had to say.

"I'm done with Auror training," he blurted out. Hermione nodded encouragingly. "I'll be sworn into service next Saturday." He cleared his throat.

"That's-that's wonderful, Ron, really wonderful," she said when he did not continue.

"And I've been helping George at the shop," he added. Hermione already knew this but she offered him a smile anyway. "Been saving up. As a matter of fact, I bought a little cottage in Hogsmeade a few months ago. Just finished the renovations. It's not much, but it's mine." He looked at her as though this should mean something.

"Wow, Ron, that's really..." Hermione didn't know what to say. Was he trying to rub it in her face that he was settled and doing well without her? The fact that she was currently not working and her living situation was debatable made this conversation all the more painful. "That's really great," she finished lamely.

Ron scowled at her, and Hermione bristled. What right did he have to make her feel like such a fool? This was _not _how she'd envisioned their reunion going.

"What I'm trying to get at, Hermione, is- Would you ever consider having me? We don't have to get married right away or anything, I know you've got a lot you want to do in the world, and I don't want to tie you down. Just, we could try it out for a bit, dating I mean, if you'd want-"

He was so adorably frazzled, and it took a minute for his words to sink in. When they did, Hermione was stunned. "Are you—are you asking me to be your girlfriend?"

Ron turned a bright shade of red as several people sitting nearby turned to watch them with interest. "Um, only if you want to, I know I'm probably not your first choice-"

"Ronald Weasley! What on earth are you talking about?" Hermione was so, _so _confused.

He took a deep breath as though he was steeling himself for a blow. "Alright, here it is: I love you, Hermione Granger, and I don't want to be with anyone but you for the rest of my life." He swallowed nervously, and Hermione's mouth fell open.

"You- but then- What was all that about Auror training and a house?" She wanted to make sure she was quite clear as to what was going on here.

"I've always loved you, and that moment during the battle was the best of my life. But then the war was over, and we were famous, and, well, I didn't have a thing to offer you except a lifetime of kisses and a discount on Decoy Detonators, and you're so much better than that. So I passed all my NEWTs and went to Auror training, I helped keep Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes afloat, I bought a house and fixed it up... Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I've loved you since Sirius broke your leg in our third year, you dolt, and I cannot _believe _that you've made me miserable for the past three years because you thought you weren't _good enough_! I'd be lucky to have you, Ronald Weasley, and you had me at 'a lifetime of kisses'." With that said, she launched herself at Ron, and they kissed deeply, passionately.

Hermione didn't hear the wild applause that broke out on the street, because she was too busy committing the feel of Ron to her memory. However, when she saw the Daily Prophet the next day, she was able to see the crowd's reaction as she and Ron kissed over and over in the Wizarding photograph on the front page. They framed it and hung it over their fireplace.

And _this _time, _this _kiss most certainly _did _count.

* * *

**A/N: The end. My dear WeasleySeeker, I hope I delivered a good enough Romione ending to satisfy you! When I sat down to think of Hermione's seven kisses I had to decide who I wanted the last one to be, and it took me a while, but this just demanded to be a Romione. This was remarkably fun to write! Still not JKR.**


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